


Arms and the Man

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-11
Updated: 2004-04-11
Packaged: 2019-02-05 16:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Like the rest of the sane world, we'll pretend Existence never happened.





	Arms and the Man

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

It was snowing when he boarded the plane in Boston and damp and cold during the stopover in London, so the smothering heat of central Africa blew over Mulder like a firestorm as he scooped up his duffel bag from the heap of luggage tossed onto the shabby runway.

 

He grinned to himself at the thought of how many miles now separated him from the Vineyard full of ghosts, Dana's stoic disappointment, the FBI's cold shoulder...everything that weighed on his soul and had pushed him onto the first plane heading somewhere warm. The Cote d'Ivoire might not be the most festive part of the world this Christmas, but it was hot, it was sunny and no one here knew him. He pulled his sunglasses into place and hopped into a taxi, telling the cheerfully unintelligible driver to take him to the nicest hotel in town.

 

An hour later he was in swim trunks beside a shabby pool. He decided he liked not being able to understand the chatter of the people around him. He heard occasional snatches of English and French, but let those few words slide out his ears, determined not to take in anything beyond the soothing warmth of the bright sun. He was here to be anonymous and insignificant to every single person in his vicinity.

 

He dozed in and out for a while, idly toying with the notion of getting dinner soon, when another quick spatter of talk poked its way into his consciousness. He tried not to let the voice come too far into his brain, but it was woefully familiar, despite the foreign language it was speaking. He tried not to care, he really did, but the voice went on from behind him and soon enough he was turning his head to find it.

 

A group of men sat at a nearby table, speaking a rapid mixture of French and Portuguese. The man whose voice he knew had his back to him, but Mulder knew the shape of that head and the broad set of the shoulders as well as he knew his own face in the mirror. A swath of old anger managed to push through the apathetic fog he'd been wallowing in for months and he found himself on his feet, stomping over to the table and grabbing the man's shoulder.

 

"Fancy meeting you here, Krycek."

 

Sharp pain flared in his wrist where Alex Krycek seized it and twisted it up. He stood up, nose to nose with Mulder.

 

"Back off, Mulder," he hissed softly, giving the wrist another wrench for emphasis. Alex spoke to his companions over his shoulder, his voice light and mockingly apologetic. The other men laughed loudly, then rose and moved away from the table. Alex shoved Mulder into one of the vacant chairs and sat down across from him.

 

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded. "Did you follow me?"

 

"No," Mulder admitted coldly. "If I'd known what kind of low-life this hotel harboured, I'd have picked something a little higher on Triple A's list."

 

"So this is pure coincidence?" Alex laughed bitterly at Mulder's cynical shrug. "You know, sometimes I really think somebody up there hates my guts."

 

Alex waved for a waiter and gave an order in smooth French. He didn't say anything else until the man came back with two glasses of pale pink liquid and set one down in front of each of them.

 

"Cheers, Mulder, old chum," Alex said with a sneer.

 

Mulder eyed the concoction warily. "What is this?"

 

"It's a pink lemonade fizz. It's about the strongest drink you're going to find around here unless you head over to the Christian sector. Which I wouldn't advise this close to Christmas. Things get a little hot between the Christian and Muslim factions this time of year."

 

"Is that what you're doing in town?" Mulder asked, taking a tentative sip. "Fomenting civil unrest? Running a few arms deals?"

 

Alex suddenly spewed a mouthful of pink pulp onto the table. Laughter poured out of him, a shout of uncontained, uproarious laughter like Mulder would never have thought him capable of.

 

"What the hell is so funny?" Mulder asked. He was finding himself on unsteady footing with Alex-their usual song and dance routine had been upended the minute Alex had seized his wrist and physically subdued him. And now, this...this jolly burst of amusement over shared lemonade, for God's sake...

 

Alex finally stopped laughing, taking off his sunglasses to wipe tears from his eyes. "Never mind. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Listen, Mulder, do us both a favour. Go sit by your pool or whatever your plans were for the duration of your stay. I won't bother you if you don't bother me. Deal?"

 

"So I should just let you slither along unhindered?"

 

"Yes," Alex said, tamping down the swell of rage Mulder always inspired in him.

 

"And when bodies start turning up or buildings explode, I look the other way? Sorry, Krycek. I still have one or two standards left and letting you loose goes against them."

 

"Mulder, it's over. It's been over for a long time. You are no longer the sole standard-bearer of Truth with a capital T. Relax and enjoy your mandatory retirement." Alex stood up. "For what it's worth, I'm not doing anything you need to worry about."

 

He walked away, leaving Mulder to contemplate his half-empty glass of lemonade.

Mulder spent the evening at a quayside café, watching the busy port town light up as the sun lowered. He was trying to wrap the shreds of his earlier apathy around a mind and heart that were suddenly buzzing with unwelcome thoughts and feelings. He wanted to be angry that Alex Krycek was strolling unfettered through Abidjan, doing whatever nefarious things he was certain to be involved in. And the anger, old and comfortable, was certainly there. But, as always, that anger was laced with potent hunger and regret and guilt and all the other knotty emotions he'd been battling against as long as he'd known Alex.

 

Damn the man for spoiling a perfectly good bout of ennui, he thought as he watched an opulent cruise ship glide majestically into one of the nearest docks.

 

His eyebrows went up in surprise at the sight of Alex stepping out of a white hotel shuttle and walking purposefully towards the lowered gangway of the newly-moored ship. A man met him at the bottom, a crew member obviously, who shook hands with Alex and led him up to the deck of the ship. Another man greeted Alex with a warm embrace, kissing both cheeks and speaking earnestly. Mulder would have given much to hear what they were talking about and he felt another jolt of surprise that his curiosity, so long dormant, was suddenly fully engaged.

 

He watched avidly until Alex and the two men were out of sight and determined that he wouldn't move from this little metal table until he saw Krycek come off that boat.

 

He regretted that decision two hours later. He'd sipped his way through two muddy cups of coffee and a stale, doughy croissant with no sign of Krycek's return. The white van still stood on the dock, crewmen from the ship loading luggage into it. A group of chattering tourists made their way down the gangway and climbed into the van as well and Mulder watched as it drove away. He made a quick decision and jogged over to where a purser stood smoking on the dock.

 

"Excuse me, where is this ship coming in from?" Mulder's French was barely passable and the man gave him a superior smile and answered in crisp English.

 

"We've just arrived from Dakar. Our home port is Lisbon."

 

That would explain the Portuguese he'd heard Krycek speaking earlier, Mulder thought as he considered various ways he could get on the ship and find out what Krycek was doing. He thanked the purser and headed back to his little metal table, where he sat for another hour before anything else happened.

 

The van came back, apparently having unloaded its cargo of vacationers, and parked in the same spot. The crewman who had escorted Krycek onto the ship appeared and opened the van doors, directing other men as they carried yet more luggage from the ship and stowed it in the van.

 

Mulder watched eagerly, certain that now Krycek would reappear, and he wasn't disappointed. He came down the gangway and Mulder frowned. Alex had changed his clothes, wearing now the same uniform the crewmen wore. He climbed into the van with two other men and they drove off.

 

Mulder jumped up from his seat, hailed one of the taxis idling at the dock and gave the name of the hotel stenciled on the side of the van. He fought back the melodramatic urge to say `Follow that van!' but he breathed a quick sigh of relief when the taxi pulled up to the hotel right behind it.

 

He paid off the cab and slunk into a clump of rhododendrons while the men began unloading the luggage. He understood Spanish when he heard it and he hoped Portuguese was close enough for him to pick up some of what was being said. Some words stood out and began to ring ominous bells...doctor, testing, suitable subjects. He swore mentally, damning Krycek for bringing this old hell back into his life, but he also couldn't mistake the rejuvenated thrill of a mystery to be unraveled and a truth to be laid bare. He was sneaking toward the van's cargo door almost before he realized it.

 

The cargo area was still half filled with luggage, mostly duffel bags and a few carry-on bags. Mulder reached for the nearest bag-it was heavy and, searching for the clasps, he felt long, solid, heavy objects inside it. Anger surged through him again-the bastard was running guns in addition to whatever the doctors were for. 

 

"Mulder, what the fuck are you doing?" a voice growled behind him. Alex grabbed his shoulder and spun him roughly to face him. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Busting up your arms trade, Krycek. They're pretty fussy about gun-runners around here. And I hear the prisons make Tunisia look like Club Med."

 

"Fuck you," Krycek spat. "Jesus, you never change. You grab one tiny piece of something and you think you have the whole damn iceberg in your hand. Look, get lost, okay? I don't have time to play twenty questions-slash-accusations with you."

 

"No way," Mulder rejoined. He reached into the van for the bag he'd been investigating and pulled it toward him. "Let's see what's hot on the market in African civil war these days."

 

Alex pulled Mulder away from the van, throwing a quick glance around to see if anyone was near them. He shoved the bag back into the van and made a move to close the door.

 

"You don't know what you're sticking your abnormally large nose into, Mulder. And if you mess up this...arms deal..." Alex snickered momentarily. "...you're going to make some people's lives harder than they already are."

 

Mulder opened his mouth to answer, but a blow to his head shut him right up.

 

"Nice timing, Mahmoud," Alex said with a feline grin. "Remind me to put you down for a bonus."

 

The crewman who had clocked Mulder picked him up easily and gave Alex a questioning look.

 

"Might as well throw him in the back. I can't take the chance he'll muddle his way along and fuck up the whole show." He looked down at the unconscious man with a look bordering on tenderness in his green eyes. "You really are a pain in my ass, Mulder. It's nice to know there are things you can always count on in this world." 

 

He barked out an order in Portuguese and the men climbed into the van, driving off into the warm night.

 

 

Two things were bothering Mulder-he seemed to be lying in a Moonwalk full of six-year olds, judging by the way everything was rolling and bouncing and people were singing a horrible song in terrible voices. He groaned and rolled over, pleased to find that, for a change, he wasn't bound, blindfolded or gagged. He lurched to the glass pane that separated the cargo area from the front of the van and pounded hard.

 

Alex turned to face him and gave him a cheery wave, then turned away and ignored the further pounding Mulder gave the glass. It was over an hour later that the van stopped and the rear door slid open. The heat was intense, the sun brilliant and everywhere he looked was scrubby desert.

 

He climbed out of the van and took the bottle of water Alex silently offered him, drank off most of it, and finally said, "Where are you taking me?"

 

Alex grinned, an evil little Grinchy smile. "Liberia. Lots of civil unrest there. Great place to trade arms."

 

The other three men standing with Alex laughed heartily and spoke too quickly for Mulder to follow. At last, Alex said, "Let me introduce you to my companions...Mahmoud, who you met last night, briefly. And this is Dr. Rafael Costillos de Brago and his son, Dr. Enrique de Brago. Gentlemen, this is Fox Mulder, my own personal monkey wrench in the works."

 

Oddly, all three men stepped forward to cordially shake his hand and cast friendly smiles at him. He scowled at Alex, who laughed that same lively laugh from the day before, slung an arm over his shoulder and said, "Come and take a piss, Fox. We've got a long drive ahead of us."

 

 

They had been driving for half the day when Mahmoud pulled over at a little booth that had slowly appeared out of the blank, dusty horizon. Two soldiers came up to the van, rifles slung casually over their shoulders, eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

 

Alex gave Mulder a stony glare that said plainly, `Keep quiet', as he pulled one of the bags through the glass partition. He tossed the bag to the soldiers, who spoke in an unknown dialect with Mahmoud. They crowed triumphantly as they dumped the bags' contents on the sandy ground, bottles of liquor and Coke, cartons of cigarettes and lumpy bags of white that Mulder recognized instantly as powdery drugs. Another of those waves of anger swept him, but this one carried an element of dismayed disbelief. He would have believed almost anything of Alex Krycek, but that the man was dealing cocaine or heroin gave him a nasty jar.

 

The soldiers filled their arms with the loot, not even bothering to look up as the van moved through the checkpoint. Mahmoud gave them a sedate wave as the van sped up and Mulder was disgusted by the jovial relief all four men displayed as the tiny outpost quickly disappeared back into the bleak landscape.

 

They pulled off the rough road half an hour later to relieve themselves and change drivers. Alex stayed with Mulder as they walked a bit to stretch their legs and take a discreet piss in the scrubby patches of rough weeds. The man's disapproval radiated from him and Alex had to fight the urge to explain himself. He had never cared much for Mulder's opinion of him, but the tangible disdain grated on him this time. Finally, when the two men were heading back to the van, Alex put a hand on Mulder's arm.

 

"Listen, Mulder, I know how you feel about what you saw back there..."

 

"Good, then you know that my opinion of you is now officially at its lowest. I did think, once, that perhaps there were some things that were beneath you. I was as wrong about that as every other thing I've been wrong about where you're concerned."

 

"It's not..." Alex began, but Mulder jerked away from his touch.

 

"It's not what, Alex? Are you going to tell me you didn't just give those men drugs so they'd let us through?"

 

Alex tried to speak again, but he was cut off this time by the sound of gunfire close by.

 

"Shit!" he yelled, dropping to his stomach and looking around frantically for the source of the noise. He called out to the other men in Portuguese and relaxed a fraction when they answered.

 

"Come on," he whispered to Mulder, and began belly-crawling back toward the van. More spatters of gunfire sounded, closer now and they could hear bullets hitting the sandy ground with muffled thumps. They reached the van, the other men inside the cargo area, each one holding a rifle.

 

"Who is it?" Mulder demanded.

 

Alex shook his head. "Not sure," he clipped. "Here, it's loaded. There's the safety. Don't fire till I say." He handed Mulder a gun, then pulled another from one of the bags, slipped it into position and waited.

 

Another round of bullets landed around them, one piercing the windshield of the van. Mahmoud and Enrique were pulling the floor panels of the van up and stuffing some of the bags inside the empty compartment. Alex and Mulder waited tensely for the few moments it took for them to track down the source of the gunfire.

 

"Over that ridge. About two hundred yards," Alex muttered and Mulder nodded.

 

"At least three," he added, listening carefully to the report of different weapons.

 

"Gotta be another patrol. There should be five, then. Mahmoud, get up front and start the engine. We'll keep them off the road until we can get moving. Fire one round, Mulder. Just to let them know we're not standing here with our dicks in our hands. On three."

 

Alex counted off and they let a quick burst fly towards the small hill. An answering volley sounded immediately and Mahmoud let out a stifled cry.

 

"Fuck-Enrique, check him. Rafe, you okay? I know this isn't what you signed on for."

 

The older doctor, white and shaking, nodded once, then tightened his grip on the rifle. More shooting, closer this time. Alex chewed his top lip uncertainly before giving Mulder an inscrutable look. 

 

"We can't sit here, Mulder. We're dead if they catch us and I have someplace I have to be. I'm going to make this problem go away and I don't want to hear any goddamned moralizing or ethical judgments. Help me if you can, stay the hell out of my way if you can't. Are we clear?"

 

Mulder knew exactly what Alex was talking about and he decided that, for now, he'd do what he could to keep them all alive. But Alex would have some damned pretty explaining to do once they got wherever it was he had to be.

 

"All right. Which one is mine?"

 

"Good boy. We'll make a criminal out of you yet," Alex said with his flashy, evil smile. "I'll take the left and work in, you start right. How's your marksmanship these days?"

 

"Been better," Mulder answered as he sighted his weapon. "Ready when you are."

 

"Go," Alex said softly and fired a quick round that blew most of the face off the left-most soldier on the ridge.

 

And just like that, five soldiers were dead. 

 

They left them hidden behind the slight hill and Alex swore loudly and creatively at the discovery that they were members of the same unit he'd bribed so efficiently. He seemed to find this level of corruption unforgivable and Mulder frowned at the bizarre way ethics worked in Alex's world.

 

Alex knew they'd have no chance of getting through any more checkpoints, bribes or no. He was driving now, Mahmoud's wound still bleeding profusely despite Enrique's careful bandaging. There was a constant, tense conversation taking place in French between Alex and the two doctors and Mulder was beginning to seethe at being left out of it.

 

They pulled over again when it grew dark and Alex and Rafael pored over a handwritten map with a route detailed in yellow highlighter. Mulder stood nearby, trying in vain to follow the quick French. He could pick up words here and there and it seemed the two men were discussing how to adjust their course.

 

Finally, they seemed satisfied and Alex rolled up the map and tucked it into his pocket. He walked away from the van a short way, stretching his back and shoulders and Mulder, watching him, wondered, not for the first time, how the man still seemed so graceful despite the heavy prosthesis. 

 

Alex stretched once more, then stilled when he felt Mulder approach. He let out a long breath, steadying himself for the barrage of accusations and character slander he knew was coming. Mulder remained silent, however, and Alex found the tension of waiting knotting his shoulders again. He rubbed at his left shoulder and readjusted one of the straps, then rolled the other shoulder as best he could. He jumped when he felt Mulder's hand touch it and begin kneading the tightness away.

 

Long, silent moments passed until Mulder finally spoke.

 

"Are you going to tell me what's worth so much to you that you're willing to do the things I saw today?"

 

Alex's shoulder slumped under Mulder's strong touch. "I don't know if it's worth it in the grand scheme of things. It's worth it to me."

 

He stepped away from Mulder and began walking back to the van as he continued. "We're going to a village called Kenkenela, about 100 miles east of Monrovia. Come on, I'll show you the arms I'm dealing and you tell me if it's worth it."

 

He spoke quietly to Mahmoud and Enrique, then pulled one of the duffel bags from its hiding place beneath the van floor. He handled it far more carefully then he'd handled the bribery bag. He opened it, then stepped back so Mulder could see inside.

 

They were arms, all right. Lots of arms and a few legs, as well. Mulder looked up from the bag full of prosthetic limbs and stared foolishly at Alex.

 

"See why I was laughing so hard?" Alex asked with a genuine grin. "These are for landmine victims. There are a lot of them, especially in outlying areas. And Rafael and Enrique...they applied for compassionate visas and were turned down. `Not medically necessary', apparently. Rafe is one of the best orthopedic reconstructionists in Europe and they turned him away." The disgust in his voice was deeper than what Mulder had felt at the thought of Alex dealing drugs.

 

"You...you're bringing artificial limbs to landmine victims?" Mulder asked with the air of someone wanting to get something perfectly clear.

 

"Yeah. Rafe put me back together after Tunguska..." Mulder winced at the reminder. "...and he knew about my...well, let's call them my `credentials.' He contacted me to see if I could help. And...Mulder, I know you don't believe me, but I sold my soul for this planet. And now I'm trying to buy it back."

 

Alex looked at the ground, feeling horribly exposed, waiting for the disbelieving scorn and the gut-punch that would likely follow it. Nothing happened-Mulder was silent and still and when Alex finally looked up with a defiant scowl, he saw instead a look of awe and pride on Mulder's face.

 

"Why are we standing here, then?" Mulder said with a lopsided grin. "There's an idealistic, almost impossible quest waiting."

 

Alex's scowl melted into another warm, honest smile and he nodded at Mulder before carefully stowing the bag back into its hiding place.

 

"It's going to be touchy getting over the border," he said with a touch of mischief in his voice. "We might have to compromise our standards a little."

 

"Standards," Mulder scoffed as he climbed into the front seat beside Alex. "Who needs `em?"

 

 

Kenkenela was as small and anonymous as Mulder could hope for. They got there, two days and another dead body later. Alex considered it a minor inconvenience, Mulder's conscience flinched a little, then was quiet. 

 

He and Alex helped Rafe and Enrique where they could. Mulder tried not to laugh at the sight of a small boy sitting on Alex's lap, playing with the straps of the man's prosthesis and comparing them to his own much smaller model. Alex looked miserably self-conscious when the child's mother kissed his cheek and thanked him with a sob or two.

 

Mostly, the two men kept a close eye out for stray soldiers who might carry tales of foreign doctors back to their commanders. They walked the borders of the village over and over again, always varying their path and making sure they could identify each person they passed. 

 

A night came, sultry and starlit, when they patrolled the border once more, sitting down in one of the few open spaces not used by livestock of some sort. They'd both learned fast to look carefully before sitting on any ground. Mulder felt as though Washington and the Vineyard weren't just across the world but across the whole expanse of the Universe, as far away from him now as Alex was close.

 

He turned to say something to Alex about this profundity but lost the words when he met Alex's eyes, deep and shadowed with the unnamed thing that was growing between them. They stared at each other until Alex's eye was caught by a shooting star and he looked away.

 

"You're supposed to wish," Mulder whispered, scooting even closer to Alex so that his hand rested behind the other man's back.

 

Alex laughed softly and a bit nervously. "What should I wish for?"

 

"You could wish that I'd tell you a secret. That one might come true."

 

"Would it?" He looked back up, finding Mulder's face barely an inch from his own, the hazel eyes sparkling warm. "Okay, I wish Fox Mulder would tell me a secret."

 

Mulder leaned in to close the last little bit of space between them, his lips grazing Alex's as he spoke. "Here's a secret. Fox Mulder has wanted things to be like this for a long time-for you and I to work together for something good." He smiled just before kissing Alex for the first time, then pulling away again. "And Fox Mulder has wanted you for a long time."

 

Alex laughed a bit more loudly this time, but didn't move away, enjoying the feel of Mulder's warm mouth so close to his own. "I thought Fox Mulder hated me."

 

"That's another secret. I hated that I wanted you. I hated that I couldn't have you. But I don't think I ever hated you. The real you, the one who sold his soul and wants to get it back now." 

 

He pressed another gentle kiss to Alex's soft mouth, then a kiss that was a little less gentle and soon the kisses weren't gentle at all. And the hands reaching into shirts and dusty jeans were trying to be gentle, but then they decided gentle could wait for another day. Right now skin was the most important thing, burning, aching, swollen skin that needed rubbing and kissing and sucking and any contact at all.

 

Eventually all the rubbing paid off-Mulder's hand wrapped around Alex's, which wrapped around two desperately throbbing shafts. Somebody came first-they would argue over who it was for years-and not quite a second later the other man came and two deep voices cried out at the same time. Both of them were teary-eyed by the time their shivers subsided and they lay together, hands still clasped around their sticky, softening cocks, until another shooting star caught Alex's attention. 

 

He rolled onto his back, shimmied back into his jeans and pulled Mulder closer, pointing at the path the star was following. 

 

"You have to wish now," he whispered against the sweat-damp forehead.

 

Mulder stared up at the star-spattered sky, then glanced down at his watch. Alex frowned at him until the sex-softened eyes met his once more. "It's midnight. So I can wish you a Happy Christmas."


End file.
